Paolo Rossi

By: Ben | October 15th, 2008

If it weren’t for the ineptitude of the Italian representative of tourism abroad, last night’s presentation of Paolo Rossi’s Tuscan villa: Poggio Cennina, would have been a positive turn. In fact if he had let burst a shot of flatulence in the microphone, it would have been far more inspiring than his uncoordinated exploits of the evening.

With a bottomless bar of wine and fleets of Italian food being prepared in the reception area, it takes a bit of doing to capture the attentions of middle aged and elderly couples whom slouched with lowering levels of blood sugar, are more interested in a panini and glass or red, than the fruits of the Italian Tuscan countryside.

The presentation of Paolo Rossi’s Poggio Cennina left me with one feeling, the necessity to visit. Which is the reason why I had left the venue with nothing but a sour sensation of an injustice done to both Italy and Paolo Rossi’s post-football passion.

The translator appointed to Paolo and his partner Luigi Pelaggi exemplified the definition of lost in translation (a point that was stressed was the organic methods in which the agriturismo – vacation farm or rather country villa offering the food and wine of the land and lodging – conducted itself; yet without the proper knowledge of the English language the translator simply repeated the Italian word for organic, biologico ). During the projected presentation, the lights were intermittently raised and shut; it was a wonder a member of the audience did not suffer a seizure.

The highlight of the evening was a show-reel displaying the heroics of Mr. Rossi in the 1982 World Cup. More comforting was the attitude of the former striker; the past is acknowledged and in a recent interview he explained the difficulty of creating a life after the highs of athletic achievement, his answer: the decision to find a career outside of football, pour his efforts into something in which he holds a passion, and that became the exceptional Poggio Cennina which in turn accents and honors his mother region.

Despite the misgivings of Italian bureaucracy, the night was salvaged through the class of the Italian icon. My wife recounted the events of her childhood when her father exploded in celebration in the final against Germany; to which Paolo smiled and sent his greetings and well wishes to her father.

My apologies for writing something outside of Bologna; yet with the looming threat of the cataclysmic Lazio, one has to occupy his mind with pleasant thoughts.